The Vengeance Games
by chuckesleaze
Summary: One man's fiction is another man's reality. And one cannot judge or alter one's sense of reality. For one, the lines between fact and fantasy muddle dangerously; and 24 children will pay the price. OPEN.
1. The Avenger

**As you may have noticed, this story along with my other SYOT was deleted for rule violation. Nevertheless, I'll be continuing, just more conspicuously. The only Tribute forms I have saved are the ones that were sent via PM, so if you had reviewed previously, please submit again! And remember, PM : ) **

Fiction.

How does one properly define fiction?

One cannot.

One man's fiction is another man's reality. And one cannot judge or alter one's sense of reality.

For instance, let me tell you a story.

There once was a boy. A young boy, a handsome boy, a smart boy. A misunderstood boy. But in some sense of the word, a normal boy. He had a mother, a sweet woman with aged green eyes. He had a father; a father who may have been a bit too fond of alcohol, yes, but oh, how he _loved _his son. He was always reminding him with hugs, hugs that turned to kisses, hot with the stench of spirits, kisses that turned to, well…

One day, the mother said enough was enough. The boy didn't know why, but they took his father away. The boy did not know, but those around him certainly did. And from then on out, he was the freak. The faggot. The creep. The one to stay away from. His own town, his own classmates, turning him away like he was some sort of hideous creature transformed from the quiet boy they once knew. And he never changed back.

Fiction, surely.

Such a thing could never happen. Humans treat others with the humanity they themselves believe to possess.

Well, that mantra, my friends, is truly _fiction._

The story of that boy is reality to me. I am that boy; now turned a man.

But, even though I have aged, my one passion throughout the years has not: fiction. I muddled the line between reality and storybooks as a child to escape the coldness of those around me; and now, I will be using it to get revenge.

One of the few places in town I can go without being sneered at and without mothers snatching up their children as if I am destined to follow in my father's footsteps is the faltering town library. And from there, I found a novel most intriguing.

One that spoke an obvious message: The greatest way to harm someone is to first harm their children.

In this novel, 24 children pay the price of death in punishment for the mistakes of those before them.

For the mockery and degradation their parents had committed.

Just fiction, right?

But once more; how does one properly define fiction?

One cannot.

One man's fiction is another man's reality. And one cannot judge or alter one's sense of reality.

I sit before twenty-four pictures. The photographs of the spawn of those who defeated and dismembered me not-so-long ago. For destroying my childhood, for destroying my _life,_ the one thing I had to value, I will do the same to them.

The twenty-four pictures rest around blueprints. Even _faggots_ can hold at least semi-successful careers, and I found one as a foreman for a suburban construction site. I rarely leave my trailer, but the workers never mind. The blueprints map out the construction site, one that has been left alone under my care for the holiday break to come, one that will be the site of the vengeance and carnage.

And on top of the blueprints, rests a book. A book that will stand as guide for the week to come.

A little voice in the back of my head whispers:

_It's only fiction._

But I shut it up.

_Not for long._

**Okay, you all might think I'm crazy for this. Basically, my weekend consisted of watching campy horror movies, and I was unfortunately inspired. You can thank The Human Centipede 2: Full Circuit and Saw II for this horrendously disturbing story. **

**Basically, a man in a town in Vermont was ostracized, taunted, and bullied his whole life due to his unfortunate home-life. Because of this he is scarred, broken, and somewhat mad. His escape growing up had been reading, and the lines between reality and fantasy had always blurred together to create his temporary freedom. Years of recluse have forced this to grow and morph into something deadly; and when he stumbled upon The Hunger Games, he knew he had found his vengeance. **

** Now, he plans to kidnap 24 of the town's children and, at the neighborhood construction site in which he works, force them to fight to the death until one stands, as broken as he is, a symbol for the sufferings they have endured. **

** The story appears to be shaky as of now, with few questions answered, but I promise I have it fully planned out and everything will be revealed in time. Without further ago, the form!**

**Keep in mind that the year is 2012. The country is the United States. These are modern-day, fairly **_**normal **_**children. I will be picky about who I choose.**

**Name:**

**Age (12-18):**

**Appearance (details!):**

**History:**

**Personality (at least nine sentences here):**

**Family:**

**Friends:**

**Strengths:**

**Weaknesses:**

**Additional Info:**


	2. The Avenged

The Tribute list has been completed, and the website is up! The website is n blog form, and contains photographs, basic information, and the previously unknown reasons for their reaping. To access the blog, copy and paste the following URL, and remove the spaces!

thevengeancegames . blogspot

And, with the blog's completion, comes first impression voting! Before I begin the story, I will need your votes for your five favorite Tributes, based off of the information provided on the website. I will not begin until I receive everyone's votes. Your votes **must **contain a short explanation of why you are voting for each. Votes must be sent through review. You cannot vote for your own tribute, but everyone else is free for the picking! The points _will not_ decide the order of the deaths and the Victor. They will only decide who gets more story time, extra plot, and who has an easier way to go in the Arena. I will ultimately choose the Victor! Vote (through review!) in this format:

25 Points:

20 Points:

15 Points:

10 Points:

5 Points:

**Tribute List:**

Adeline Crast; 13; Female

Andres Gasper; 16; Male

Asher Brockford; 17; Male

Ashton Deer; 16; Female

Benjamin Romero; 16; Male

Britta Kemp; 17; Female

Cameron Pope; 16; Male

Claire Meliza; 13; Female

Dakotah Phillips; 14; Female

Elise Valenti; 18; Female

Grace James; 14; Female

James Morgan; 18; Male

Jet Corey; 14; Male

Jim Cobar; 15; Male

Johann Sinclair; 16; Male

Lisa Finley; 17; Female

Love Carson; 15; Female

Matt Mills; 15; Male

Micah Britton; 14; Male

Mollie Pike; 12; Female

Nataline Cohen; 17; Female

Nathaniel Stark; 17; Male

Robbie Lesner; 18; Male

Shaun Johnson; 15; Female

**Also, I've currently begun a new story, a series of one-shots based off of the Victors of each past Hunger Games, as submitted by fellow authors. For each Victor you submit to Victory: 73 Tales of Triumph, I will give your Tribute 20 points in this story. Submit away!**


	3. The Beginning

_** Live from Channel 11 News, I'm Linda Bauer, here at the scene where the events of uncovering what police forces are calling "America's most horrific mass murder" are taking place. Authorities received an ominous and panic-eliciting phone call at 3 AM last night, leading them to the allegedly gruesome scene here at a construction site just south of Arlington. The media has still received no word of exactly what is going on, but it is pure panic down here folks. Police bomb squads have only just minutes ago managed to deactivate the explosive-based, booby-trapped fence that contained in the crime. Forces are now dragging forth the first victim. I'm going to see if I can get in a little closer and make something of the terror that is ensuing here, folks, and back to you, John. **_

_** This just in, here at the scene of the crime, police have begun recovering not only bodies but the bodies of children. I can't- I can't catch a break down here folks, it pure, utter, chaos. The bodies of 19 children have been recovered, several identified as children that have been issued as missing over the course of a few weeks. Families are pouring in as they are being informed, I'm being pushed all over the place, and what's worse is this panic seems almost senseless, John, we have no idea who, what, when, and most importantly why so many children are being pulled, dead, from this horror. Bodies do not shows traits of similar murderers in any way, bodies are mauled and mangled in severely different patterns, some clearly the result of knife work and even tools such as hammers and bolts. Some look no more than 13 years old. I'm physically sickened by the sight of some of these bodies. I've just been informed the death count is rising, 22, 23… There seems to be heightened distress over by the gate, police are waving, people are shouting…John…please let me get through…am I coming in, John, do you read me? I've just been informed that one… one child is… alive!**_

**Shaun Johnson**

My head is pounding. That, my inability to open my eyes, and the fact I have no recollection of my whereabouts all spell out a hangover. I don't remember drinking. But I guess that does tend to happen.

Blinking a few times, I push myself up from the cold floor. Its pitch black, which I find a little odd. All the rooms in my house have a light on at all times. I'd say I was at Matt's, but the hell Thomas, my brother, would let me over there.

"_Matt!_" I whisper. No response. He's got to be here somewhere. His face is the last and only thing I remember.

"_Matt? Matt!" _The last attempt comes out as more of a growl, which causes a body to stir a few feet away from me. I can't help but laugh. What the hell did we get into?

I groan as I drag my body, achy from lying on the dank concrete, over to the figure. Standing up over him, I yawn before dropping onto his gut in a full-blown pile-driver.

Instead of the muffled _oomph_ I expected, I get a scream of terror. Definitely not Matt's.

The scream not only pushes me back on hand and foot in a chorus of _what the hell's_, but it causes me to trip over another body, and another still. I definitely don't remember going to any party.

Things I hope to God are people, and ones I know at that, shift all around me, and suddenly, I feel like I should be scared.

"Matthew Mills!" I try to hiss, but it comes out a little squeakier than it should.

The room gradually grows louder as more and more people come to.

_What the fuck?_

_ Where am I?_

No one seems to have any idea where we are or what is going on. I don't recognize a single voice. I try to quickly piece together what the hell is going on, but I can't. All I know is something isn't right. Something is really not right.

And then, a light flickers on.

**Cameron Pope**

I blink furiously, shielding my eyes from the burning light that has so suddenly appeared from above. Once my eyes adjust, I can see where I am, although it still gives few answers as to why I am here. How is no secret.

I've been kidnapped.

Immediately as the lights turn on, I see a crowd of other kids in the room, chaos already beginning to ensue as I know it does with my peers. My reaction to the situation is a little less obnoxious, but every bit as panicked. Patting along the sides of my jeans, I search for the one thing that can confirm what I already know.

My camera.

I'm amazed to find it, still intact, as I pull it out. Switching it on, the picture's brightness takes a moment to adjust.

When my mind fails me, I know my camera will not. And now, when my memory is wiped and my head is foggy, it does. The picture, the last thing I remember, is at an odd angle, as it should be, seeing as it is taken from what looks to be the back of a spacious van. A clump of blondish hair from a body next to me obscures most of the shot, but one can clearly still see the shadowy figure shoving me forward, hand extended to shut the heavy door.

"Shit," I mutter, burying my face in my hands. But skin is not the only thing I feel. Around my neck is a thick band that I know wasn't there before. Hurriedly looking into the reflection from my camera lens, I can see it fitted with a blinking device I know better than to fiddle with.

I can hardly form a thought that isn't _why? Why why why? _ My palms press harder into my eye sockets until colors swirl from the seemingly endless black. Blues, yellows, reds. It almost makes me-

"Oy," someone shouts from beside me, ripping me from my sanctioned mind into cold, hard reality, "You got any idea what the fuck is going on boy? You got three seconds to fess it on up."

The boy, with his thick neck; fitted with a similar collar, I notice; and tan skin nearly resembles a bull, and probably has the patience of one as well. I try and choke out an answer, but I really truly just- "I-I don't… I don't know," I mutter.

"What the fuck was that, boy?" I feel him breathing hot in my face, with breath that smells of beer and thick saliva. I notice for the first time just how many people were taken along with me as all of their eyes watch in angst.

"What are you gonna do beefcake, fist pump him to death?" pipes up a greasy haired boy from across the room.

"You got something to say, faggot?" Robbie growls, standing up from his previous perch and starting after the boy, whom I recognize as Jet Corey, a kid from a couple years below me.

"Nah, nah, cool your 'roid rage and go back to smashin' on Peter Pan back there," Jet smirks, jabbing his thumb in my direction. Used to these remarks or not, they still sting.

I jump suddenly when a burst of static erupts from a corner of the room I'd yet to notice. Even Robbie stops his tirade to take note of the television that has suddenly come to life.

**Elise Valenti**

I hadn't been paying much attention until the TV flickered on. Last night was rough; and the get the highs, you have to deal with the lows, which I've been nursing off since I woke up in this goddamned room. My eyes finally start to open from their usually sagged state, and I attempt to peel myself from the corner I've been sitting in in to get a better look at the set, only to slump back into place. I don't care what's going on; this isn't the first time I've woken up in a room full of clueless idiots. But if everyone else is scared, it probably means I should at least pretend to be too.

The TV fades from heavy static into an image of a man. Not just any man, whom I would have overlooked and tucked my head back into my knees. Manfred Crass. At this, my chest tightens a bit. My brow furrows in confusion and I even go so far as to crane my neck from its resting place against the wall. Manfred Crass? A room full of children? This can't be good.

"Hello children," the tape starts. I squint my eyes against the fog that always settles itself after a night of using. This is starting to get interesting.

"You may be wondering why you are here. The answer to this is not simple. Each of you has a reason. Your punishment will be the same."

One by one, photographs of kids in the room appear on screen. I feel my head slumping back against the wall, but I force it upright in time to catch the pictures.

A Hispanic kid, Andres; a tiny, ruddy skinned girl called Mollie, and a model-esque babe named Natalina. A few kids I recognized from school, James Morgan the hick boy and Robbie Lesner the jar head, each photograph dubbed over with tales of torment and betrayal. At this point, when my face pops up, a school picture from back when I even bothered to go, I know what's coming.

"Elise Valenti: they were never able to prove her guilty for burning down my house that night, but I know she did. And I will punish her harder than any law ever could."

I close my eyes and sigh, but the flames of Manfred's house still burn from behind my lids. Whatever this is, it's designed to make me, and these other brats, pay.

**Lisa Finley **

I'm too terrified to look at the TV. Instead I sit, petrified, across from a row of photographs pinned to the wall, matching those shown on the video clip. I recognize classmates acquaintances, some as young as twelve, and it takes everything in me to stop my thoughts from rushing long enough to focus.

"So now, you must be eager to learn what exactly is going to go on. What exactly your punishment shall be," Manfred Crass sneers from the television. It's taking everything within me to hold back my sobs. Whatever this sick punishment is, I'm suffering it because of my parents. Kidnapping, being strapped up to what's surely an explosive device, all because of _them._ My parents were the ones who tormented Manfred, even to this day. I wanted nothing to do with my parents and their obnoxious behavior, but here I sit anyways.

"You are in the basement of one of the few finished houses in what is a neighborhood under construction and development. The neighborhood is distant; no one will be looking for you out here. The entire premises are lined with an electric fence. And if that isn't deterrent enough, the devices strapped to your necks will detonate if one does not follow the orders I am about to give. As punishment, as a way to feel only half the pain I have felt at your hands, you will die. But you are not so lucky as to have me do it for you. You twenty-four will do in yourselves. You may put this off as long as you'd like, I've got all the time in the world. You, however, do not. I am always watching. The collars are set to detonate at my will. Take too long, and you just might be in for a surprise. Don't bother contacting an outsider. Your cell phones and IPods and God knows what else have been confiscated. The only way out is to fight your way out, with one left standing. Good luck. And, may the odds be ever in your favor." A door in the corner of the room clicks open as the television flickers off.

At this, the room erupts into a chorus of screams and wails. A curly haired boy pounds his fists against the walls and the caramel haired girl next to him kicks over the TV, shattering the glass to pieces. I can only watch in terror, silent sobs threatening to choke me entirely. I don't even notice how heavy I am breathing and how my head is reeling. I don't notice anything but my own tears until the slimy looking boy I recognize from the tape as Jet Corey shoves two fingers between his crooked teeth and whistles louder than any of the shrieks.

"Alright, kiddos," he chortles, "I suggest we do something a little more proactive with our time besides screaming like a bunch of bitches."

"Oh yeah?" booms infamous Robbie Lesner from the opposite corner. "And what do you suppose we do, bitch?"

"I suppose," Jet starts, "You pussies start lining up to get your heads bashed in!"

At this, he picks up a brick I hadn't even noticed throughout the terror and tosses it from hand to hand, prompting a few squeals from around the room and bile to rise in my throat.

"No," says the beautiful blonde Natalina Cohen, a girl from my grade who I would at any other time be honored to be in the same room as, "There has got to be some other way. He's just a person; we can fight this, can't we?"

A sudden explosion causes everyone to freeze in their tracks. Smoke clouds the room and obstructs my vision. I don't even think, I instead brush the fog away from my face, for some reason doubting what part of me knows I'll see when the smog clears. When it lifts, I only catch a glimpse; enough to burn the sight into my memory and send the others into another uproar. Sobs rack my body and I can hears my wails entangling with the other cries and screams. When I dare to open my eyes for a second, I see the neck of the little orphan girl, whose name I learned as Mollie from the clip, still; spurting blood from the charred opening where a head should rest. _This is real._

"Oh, SHUT _UP," _screams Jet over the diminishing cries. The room goes silent, with only a few whimpers left as others look for any distraction from the bloody mess across the room.

Jet moves in closer to a shaken, paled Natalina.

"Yeah, sure baby," he muses, "We can find a way out of this for you. Give me a little kiss and maybe I'll let you get second place."

Natalina is taken aback, as disgusted as the rest of us.

"He's right, Natalina," pipes up a charming boy named James Morgan for the first time since our capture, "As slimy as he is, he's right. That little girl," he pauses to half-swallow, half-choke back a sob, "Just got her head blown off. We're powerless. We are _powerless._ We have to do this.

The silence around the room is intense as others realize the fate I have accepted from the start. We are going to die here.

"Thought so, Princess," scoffs Jet, "So who's up first?"

Everyone stares in terror and shock, eyes pleading. Flipping around that brick, even Robbie is wary to charge at him. Everyone can see he's all talk, but holding the only real weapon in the room still makes him the force to be reckoned with. Everyone gapes, not knowing what to do.

Suddenly, a figure I hadn't even bothered to notice, slides itself silently up the wall upon which it was slumped. Dragging its body into the dim light, I notice it's a girl I've never seen before. Drooping lids rimmed in thick black liner, dark hair still glamorous in tangled knots, she's darky enchanting. No one says a word as she creeps up on shapely, jean-clad legs. The dull look in her dark eyes doesn't falter as she stops just behind Jet, who looks smug about his fleeting feeling of power.

If anything, she looks bored as she produces another brick from her jacket and slams it down over Jets head. He doesn't have time to register what has happened before his head caves it on itself, sending a spray of blood on Natalina, who is too shocked to even wipe it off. The girl drops the weapon to the ground, and Jet's body soon follows. She wipes her hands on her tight jeans and stares at us expectantly, not showing any sign of care towards what she has just done. Still, the room is silent. No one knows how to register what has happened, and what is about to occur. I stare blankly and the blood puddling on the floor. I can see the girl's smirk in the red reflection.

"Well," the girl rasps, "You heard the man."

And, with that, comes Hell on Earth.

**Matt Mills**

I'm the first one to move. Squeezing the hell out of Shaun's arm, I practically hurl us up the wooden stairs and out into the plaster kitchen. My head flips from side to side looking for the exit, but I end up just burying my face in my hands. Why me? Why is _this _my luck?

"For fuck's sake Matt, get your shit together!" Shaun pants from in front of me. Whatever quick-thinking went on back there, it's all been spent now. I stare blankly into Shaun's wide eyes. I'm not surprised when she slaps me in the face, and if anything, I'm glad. Snapped back into action.

"Let's get the fuck out of here!" she shouts, and it's switched back to the usual with her dragging me into safety. Soon we're out of the gutted house, and left to scramble around for a place to hide. With my less than sharp wits and Shaun's rash behavior, I'll be surprised if we can find a decent place. We're left to take in the scenery before the screams that are already coming from the house follow us outside. It's dark outside, but there's enough stars to light up the area and get a good look at what's around us. Bare skeletons of buildings, piles of dirt, big bulldozers and mounds of supplies. I try not to blink, wanting to take in everything I can before Shaun drags us off some other place; and because when I do shut my eyes, even for a second, all I see is the blood of the little girl back inside.

"Shit," Shaun mutters from behind me.

"What?" I whisper back, afraid to turn around and see a bloody stump where my best friend's head should be.

"We forgot Jim."

**Jim Cobar**

My head whips from side to side as I practically dance around the room, not knowing where to go or what to do. My arms are locked down at my sides and my eyes are wide. It's times like these I wish I wasn't the way I am. Heads are rolling all around me and I can barely even focus enough to get myself out of this mess. My feet make a decision before my head does and soon I'm leaping over the body of Ben Romero, an odd kid I knew from the a grade ahead, whose neck lies at an awkward angle after being shoved down the stairs. I fly upwards, stumbling into the room at the top and nearly tripping over my own feet. Nearly all of the kids are still scrambling to find a way out; myself included. I don't think my mind has ever moved so fast, and that's saying something. I'm not even thinking, and before I know it, I'm on the wooden beams and insulation that make up the second floor. Looking down at the fighting below me, I watch as the big guy, Robbie, slams his foot down on the neck of the chubby redheaded girl whose name I do not know. I should be scared, but instead, I'm angry.

Angry that I'm here. Angry that my two friends ran out and abandoned me. Angry that these people are actually _dying._ I realize then that I can't run away from this forever. Sometimes you just have to fight it out. I close my eyes and try and breath in and out, slowly like my mom taught me how. When I open them again, I'm as calm as I'll ever be.

_Okay,_ I think,_ weapon._

It only takes me a minute to see the hammer lying at my feet. _Perfect._

I dash back down the stairs, colliding with a person. I almost slam my hammer down without a thought, but then I realize I'm looking into the fiery eyes of Shaun Johnson. Matt is back to back with her, hands clenched into fists; the inseparable team. I can't help but grin, knowing I have them on my side.

"What the hell are you guys waiting for?" Shaun shouts, "Let's go!"

Shaun grips Matt's wrist as she runs forward, with me just behind. We dodge bodies and others fleeing the scene, and I feel the weight lifting off my chest as we near the doorless frame that makes up the exit. That is, until, I'm jerked backwards with impossible force. I can barely choke out the word _HELP_ before the first that isn't clutching into my hair jams into my windpipe. But that's enough to stop Shaun, who whirls around, ready to fight. When her face falls, I gulp. I know who has me. I scramble to get free, but Robbie's first slams down again. I can feel his muscles rippling and all hope leaving my heart. This can't be it. Shaun'll help me. She will. She will. But despite her searching herself desperately for some sort of defense, I know she's weaponless.

I can feel Robbie's chest rise and fall as he laughs, and his free arm curls around my neck. I want to tell him it's not funny, and remind him how he lost our homecoming game for the team, but I feel him jerk his muscles back and I know, deep down, that it's too late.

I swear I hear my dog bark as everything goes black.

"Jim. JIM!" Shaun barks. I'm not dead after all. I fling my eyes open after having squeezed them shut impossibly tight, to find Robbie lying next to me, a plank lined with rows of jagged nails sticking straight through his temple. My mouth drops open, and Matt stands over his body shrugging when I look him in the eye. I look back to Shaun, who tries to hide the tears of panic in her eyes, so as not to let us believe she isn't the tough one. All we can do in this situation, looking back and forth at each other's bloody, shaking bodies, is laugh. We start out giggling, but it soon escalates to hysterics as we realize just how crazy what we're doing is and just how insane we're already going. Shaun buries her face in Robbie's un-beating chest to muffle the shrieks and Matt slumps down beside me, curling over to one side in peals of laughter. We don't know what else to do but laugh. If we stop, we might cry. We might remember where we are. And we might remember what is yet to come. But for now; we laugh.

**The Dead:**

**Mollie Pike; Detonated collar**

**Jet Corey; Head smashed by Elise Valenti**

**Benjamin Romero; Pushed down flight of stairs by Nathaniel Stark**

**Claire Meliza: Neck broken by Robbie Lesner**

**Robbie Lesner: Impaled with spiked plank by Matt Mills**

**I'm back from my hiatus! I hope this chapter is long enough to somewhat make up for it. I absolutely hate what I've done with it, but I've made a promise to myself to finish this one, and I intend to stick with it! It's hard to keep track of everyone, so I suggest you visit the website! **

_**thevengeancegames . blogspot . com**_

**Also, don't forget to vote! If your character wasn't mentioned, they will be in the next chapter! You cannot vote for your own character. Include an explanation as to why you chose each character in your votes!**

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